An Eye for an Eye
by XxcookiesxXxscarexXxmexXx
Summary: Sherlock should have never tried to track down Moriarty. It'll only lead him to chaos.
1. Summary

So just a few things!

I was getting into one of my "let's write angst because making sad stories is always enjoyable moods" and I was listening to "Girl With One Eye" by Florence+The Machine, which resulted in this lovely little 3 chapter story!

I had this whole headcanon written out, but I accidentally deleted it, so I'm just going to give you a brief summary here;

Sherlock finds out who Moriarty is after a Study in Pink, but then regrets it. Now he's running away from him and trying not to get killed, but that costs him. Will he succeed, or will he die at the hands of Moriarty?

Also, Moriarty has this thing for cutting out the eyes of his victims and yeah..that kinda came from the song, along with the whole "now that you've found me you're screwed" kind of plot deal

Sorry this is a total mess of a warning page but anyways let me just put in the important stuff and stop my rambling.

Warnings: Major Character Death, Gore, Mature themes

Fandom: Sherlock

Pairings [though its not really seen in the story, its what they are based on]: Johnlock, MorMor

And that's about it! I hope you enjoy! My apologies for this messy summary/warning page.


	2. Chapter 1: John

_She told me not to step on the cracks,  
I told her not to fuss and relax.  
Pretty little face stopped me in my tracks.  
But now she sleeps with one eye open,  
that's the price she'll pay.  
_

It had been a terrible turn of events, after the case of the Study in Pink. Sherlock had invested too much time in trying to figure out who this Moriarty person was, and now that he had found him, he regretted it. Not because of the danger; oh no, he loved the thrill of chasing a genius serial killer, especially because this one had a daunting cleverness about him that lured Sherlock even deeper into his traps. No, he regretted it because of the danger he had put the 3 people closest to him in. Lestrade had to go into the Witness Protection Program after much urging on Sherlock's part, which was unusual for the consulting detective, so Lestrade understood the urgency. Mrs. Hudson was sent to live in Africa without anyone but Sherlock knowing, but that wasn't too much of a problem considering Mrs. Hudson didn't have any living relatives nor did she have any relationships beyond casual friendships with neighbors and mailmen. And of course, there was the problem of John. John Watson was by far the most stubborn and loyal man Sherlock had ever met, and he refused to leave Sherlock's side through this investigation and capture of Moriarty and his top sniper, Sebastian Moran.

They had been hiding in the cellar of The Black Friar pub in London for a couple weeks, thanks to John's convenient friendships. The owner was a long-time army comrade of John's who went by the name Wilbur. He had provided the crime fighting duo a sanctuary to stay in and meals at a low charge, which John swore he'd pay back, plus much interest. During their stay, Sherlock had been working furiously over the case, trying to figure out every possible way to outfox James Moriarty and his henchman. He barely slept the entire time, and ate about a sixteenth of his food whenever offered some. John would get frustrated and force him to eat larger portions, which Sherlock finally agreed to after much pestering from his companion.

Now here they were, hiding in their usual corner when happy hour came around, bundled up together to keep out the cold and prevent their shivering. Though now, it wasn't because of the biting cold that covered their skin with goose bumps. It was because of the utter chaos upstairs, which grew louder every minute. The sound of furniture being smashed, bullets being fired, and lifeless bodies thumping to the floor echoed throughout the establishment. It was dreadful, and the two men knew it could only be the work of Moriarty and whoever else he recruited to ruin the lives of others.

After having to listen to the massacre going on upstairs for 10 minutes, John had finally had enough. He had fought with Wilbur in Afghanistan, for God's sakes! He was a soldier and it was his job to help another soldier in need. Getting up from where he was hiding with Sherlock and ignoring his companion's furious whispers to 'Get back down here, John! Now is not the time for pride!', John left the cellar and headed upstairs, sneaking quietly up the hall and into the kitchen, the old doctor saw that nothing had been disturbed in that room. He then moved into the hall leading to the main room, where the sound of whizzing bullets and shouts still filled the air. Reaching the end of the hall and peaking around the corner, he saw the horror of the situation. Nearly everyone who didn't appear to be one of Moriarty's agents were dead, their bodies littering the floor, their flesh marred with bullet holes. John then noticed Wilbur hidden behind a table, holding his leg as blood oozed from a deep wound. The old doctor knew he had to assist his friend, but he would have to wait a few moments before he could get to him.

But, right as the golden chance appeared; a burly arm reached around his chest and dragged him back before tossing him to the ground. The weight of a boot was firm against his chest, and when John looked up, he saw it belonged to no other than Sebastian Moran. He grunted and reached up to pull it away, but Sebastian had foreseen his move and stabbed a knife into the center of his hand and drove the appendage down with the knife until the blade was stuck in the wood floorboards, earning a hoarse yell of agony from John. Deciding to not leave the other hand capable of inflicting any damage, Sebastian repeated the action with his second pocket knife. A slightly louder scream of pain is torn from John's throat, and yet he still struggles, trying his best to ignore the pain radiating from his palms. Sebastian just smirks viciously and stomps on John's upper belly, right where his diaphragm was, effectively knocking the breath out of the man on the ground.

"'Ey, Boss! I caught Hedgy." Sebastian calls into the darkened hall. A quiet shuffle is heard down the hall, and a few moments later, the elusive Moriarty appears, hovering above John. A grin resembling that of the Cheshire Cat stretches across the master criminal's face, and he crouches down to be closer to John.

"This was quite the entertaining game, Mr. Watson. Bu-uut, I'm afraid your time is up!" The criminal chimes with a tone that feigns sadness. "Ah well, it'll leave me with one less target and more time to toy with Sherlock. Thanks for trying, too bad you don't get a second chance. Oh, and before I go, I'll need one little favor from you. Nothing too major, I'll just need your right eye." The grin on his face becomes even more sinister, and before John even has enough time to comprehend what Moriarty told him, Sebastian has a knife his cutting through his right eye socket. Guttural screams of horror and agony fill the air, and the sounds are music to the two murderers' ears.

After the deed was done, a knife was dragged across John's throat, silencing his screams and turning them into gurgling sputters as he clung to his last thread of life. That thread was soon severed, though, as the switchblade was driven straight through his heart.

The criminals left the scene after they were satisfied with the murder of John Watson, and gathered up their fellow felons. They departed; making sure no trace of them that could be tracked was left at the crime scene.

After 15 minutes of silence and no John returning to the safety of their hideout, Sherlock feared the worst. And his fear was rightly assumed when he crept upstairs and was met by the stench of blood and gunpowder, and the sight of his beloved Watson on the floor, his face and upper torso horribly mutilated. Sherlock fell to his knees; his heart breaking in two as he gingerly picked up his dead companion and held him to his chest.

Tenderly, yet with a fierce and bold meaning, Sherlock murmured to the corpse, "I will not let them go. I will get them, and I will kill them." After that, he sat there for what seemed like an eternity, clutching John to his chest and weeping.

_I took a knife and cut out her eye,  
I took it home and watched it wither and die.  
Well, she's lucky that I didn't slip her a smile.  
That's why she sleeps with one eye open.  
That's the price she'll pay._

I said, hey, girl with one eye  
Get your filthy fingers out of my pie.  
I said, hey, girl with one eye  
I'll cut your little heart out cause you made me cry.  



End file.
